


Acts of Desperation

by maydayparade8123



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, Pre-Series, if you have a light stomach, there may be a part in here you don't want to read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maydayparade8123/pseuds/maydayparade8123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thalia's tired and Luke's hurt and somewhere in between, they need each other.</p><p>I wrote this for pjoshipweeks 2013! If you have a light stomach, there's mentions of blood and Thalia having to do some medical work on Luke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acts of Desperation

**Author's Note:**

> My first Thaluke fic! I hope you like x

Thalia is tired.

They’ve been running all day—the three of them—and she is so,  _so_  tired. It feels like maybe they never stop running. She’s strong; always has been and always will be. But for once, she’s  _tired_. She feels like she could cry.

Above all of her own turmoil, she’s concerned for the way Annabeth keeps rubbing her eyes as the young girl jogs alongside them. Thalia hopes with all hope available that she’s not crying. She’s never been good around tears, especially the tears of people she cares about. Annabeth is at a close tie with Luke at the top of that list.

She’s worried about him, too. Lately, it’s been taking a lot longer for the harshness of his expression to dissipate after a battle. She starting to question what his natural expression is—the bright smile or the pursed lips and furrowed brow?

Incidentally, Thalia’s also not so good with blood. So, of course, Luke has a stunning amount seeping through his shirt.

"We need to rest," she says softly, not loud enough for Annabeth to hear. False hope is something Thalia despises so much that she refuses to give it to other people. She spares the small blond girl a glance, hearing the sharp, untrained breaths escape her. Then, to add to the multiple reasons that they needed to stop, she shoots a pointed look to his side; he briefly notices the way his blue, ratty shirt is turning more of an angry burgundy.

Nodding lightly, Luke acknowledges the statement and keeps his eyes forward. A few moments later, he does pause his quick pace, but only to lift Annabeth up on his back and let her rest. He looks behind them, checks the trees all around them, sends a silent prayer up to his dad. (Bitterness almost gets in the way, but Thalia and Annabeth are his family and they take every bit of precedence in his life.)  _Protect us. Just until I can get them to safety._

He hears Annabeth’s breaths deepen within a few minutes. After making sure no monsters nor people are pursuing them, he tells Thalia that it’s safe to walk for now.

"That monster—"

"It’s a new one," Luke said grimly. “Like we needed any more." His hair falls in his eyes when he looks downward.

"We’ll find a safe haven," she says, catching his eye. “I promise."

"I believe you," he answers, and  _yeah_ , when has he ever not believed her blue eyes?

Annabeth shifts, hits his side wound and reminds him of how bruised he is all over. Thalia senses it, like she always does. Like she always has. Luke sometimes thinks that they’ve been in sync since the moment they met. “I’ll help you when we find somewhere safe."

"We’ve been looking for months," he grinds out. “We’ve been praying, we’ve been fighting monsters I’ve never even  _heard_  of and Thalia, I’m just—"

"I know," she says, and he knows she does. “I know." Thalia is quiet for a few moments, and all Luke can hear is the crunching of leaves beneath their feet. “I worry about her."

"Too young," Luke manages, gritting his teeth at the pain on his side.  _Christ_ , was he poisoned?

"We’re stopping here."

"No, we have to—"

"Luke," she says. In the same tone that she always uses when he’s overdone it; worked too hard, fought too fearlessly, ranted too fiercely. “We’re stopping."

Usually, he would argue more, but his side is  _screaming_ in pain and while Annabeth is young, she’s strong with more than enough muscles that make her heavy. Instead, he meets her eyes and she knows without question to smoothly remove the girl, so young, _too_  young, from his back.

A makeshift shelter is constructed within a group of three trees. Thalia tries to create some semblance of a tent, but her muscles ache. Luke’s still bleeding. Thankfully, for once, Annabeth’s curled up against a tree and looks peaceful. It’s enough.

By the time she pulls the remains of their medical supplies out of her knapsack, he’s already pulled his shirt off his shoulders. She bats his hands away and gets a good look at it—a scratch this time, and it’s deep, but they’re still lucky. She tells him what she’s thinking, shortly after wondering how she can manage to say that, after everything they’ve been forced to withstand.

By the time she reaches out to clean the wound, her hands are shaking. And her eyes are burning ridiculously, and Thalia has never been so  _tired_  in her life. Her eyes sting so bad that she thinks maybe she’s gotten salt in them somehow. And it hurts, well, _she_  hurts. Because Annabeth’s too young and Luke’s too good and neither of them deserve any of what they get.

It’s ridiculous, since  _Luke_  is the one bleeding and if anyone has a right to be crying it’s him. He knows her though, and he knows that she’s hit her limit for the day. And somehow, the simple way that he reaches out and pushes the tears off her cheeks is almost better than being safe. Maybe it’s because she feels like she is for the moment. Maybe it’s because she cares about him too much for her own good.

He looks pained, which,  _of course_ , the deep slice in his skin is bloody and dirty, but this seems different. Luke leans up, and she knows it hurts him by the way his jaw clenches, but he doesn’t vocalize it. He never complains; never acts like anything’s wrong and it’s frustrating because sometimes things  _need_ be wrong. If there isn’t any wrong, how could there ever be anything right?

He kisses her gently, like broken glass that may cut his lips up, but maybe he doesn’t care. It’s not the first time he’s kissed her and it’s hopefully not the last time either; she’s discovered that she likes when times like these happen. Thalia’s only mildly concerned about the way her heart pounds too fast for the few seconds it lasts.

They’re both broken. They both try to fix each other. And in the end they’re left with cuts and bruises and mental scars too painful to forget for months. But they’re alive. She likes to tell herself that it’s enough. She’s sure it’s a lie, though. He leaves his forehead pressed against hers, just like he always does. (She likes to pretend that he’s concentrating on getting his heart rate back to normal just like she is. That’s probably a lie, too.)

"Thalia, I need you to help me right now." She hears the anguish and it rushes right through her ears and into her soul; she hurts for him. “I know you," he tells her with a shaking voice. “And I know that you’re tired. I promise I’ll take first watch." He kisses her lightly again, maybe because he wants to or maybe because he’s trying to convince her. She hopes for the first one. “You’re smart enough to do this. And I know you’re strong enough."

She nods and pulls away from him. His proximity was too tempting and he was too injured. She didn’t have time for desperate kisses right now.

He sees the change in her demeanor, the way her jaw sets in strength and her shoulders straighten themselves. He watches determination slip into her blue eyes and for a few moments he can’t stop thinking about how pretty she is.

Then it’s pain, white hot,  _awful_  pain like he’s never felt before. Thalia whispers apologies over and over as she uses the last of the rubbing alcohol and pulls out the needle and thread. They’d stolen it from an older woman’s house when Annabeth had gotten a nasty cut on her back from a talon. Luke had taken care of the stealing and Thalia worked with steady hands on Annabeth. It wasn’t perfect, but it healed. It healed fast, too. She could only pray that the same thing would happen for Luke.

He winces with a sharp intake of breath the first time the needle permeates his skin. After that, he’s silent with tense muscles and tightly shut eyes. Thalia wants to reach out and take his hand in hers, but she’s nervous and needs both of her hands to make sure the job is done right. The black-haired girl pushes back swells of emotion, which is hard for her typical, moody self, but the task gets done. She brushes debris off his chest when she ties off the stitches, and it’s a messy job. The laceration is still bleeding a little, but Annabeth’s did as well, so Thalia knows she shouldn’t worry about it. (And she does anyways, just enough that Luke holds her hand for a while and makes up some stupid story that she  _knows_  is a lie.)

Thalia’s bruised up from the battle too, a minor scratch on her right ankle there, an angry red mark here. Luke tells her he’s proud of her and she repeats the phrase back to him.

"I think you’re getting stronger than me," he mumbles, not because he’s tired—because he doesn’t want to wake the blond fighter in the corner. She deserves something as normal as a nap.

"Maybe I am." Thalia’s always considered herself a bit more powerful than Luke, but he’s smarter. Cunning and quick on his feet; dangerous when he has a weapon in his hands.

"Should I be intimidated?"

Thalia laughs, because they’d fought the scariest monster she’s ever seen today, and now here they are  _flirting_. It seems mundane and silly, and she knows she’ll have to break a few branches over her leg and defeat a monster before she feels like the good ol’ Thalia Grace again. He squeezes her hand and maybe her heart a little, all in the same motion. “Maybe you should be."

"All these ‘maybe’s," Luke sighs.

Thalia’s always been too outspoken. “Maybe I care about you." He caresses her hand with the pad of his thumb, something so simple and nice that she’s not sure how to react. She never knows how to react when Luke acts like this—like he does care. Most of the time he’s too busy trying to save everyone.

"I care about you," he tells her, and she believes him. “No ‘maybe.’"

And she still believes him later, as he backs away and protects Annabeth from a monster he can’t fight without ripping the stitches Thalia worked on. She believes him when he disappears for a whole night and comes back with a backpack full of food and necessary medical components. She believes him as he scoops Annabeth up in a hug and spins her around just because he can. She believes him when he looks her in the eye and tells her not to worry about where he found the supplies.

Most importantly, she believes him when he squeezes her shoulder tightly and rushes Annabeth down the other side of the hill. She believes him when the last thing she hears is this awful, guttural,  _pained_  scream of her name.

And she’s still believing him when it goes all black.


End file.
